The Black Scorpion
by etincelle047
Summary: The war is over, but not for Harry, the veteran, the hero is accused of war crimes. But as his former allies come to arrest him he is whisked away to the world of warcraft. Will he find acceptance there, more? Dark!powerful!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**OK, first of :**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (he'd be a bad-ass if I did) or Warcraft, they belong to J.K Rowling an Blizzard.**

**Now that it's done with; hello dear reader! This is one of the few ideas I had about a HP/Wow crossover, I hope you'll like it! As I am quite a recent writer (and French) all your comments/piece of advice/observations are welcome here. Just don't be too harsh, my newbie ego is still fragile :p.**

* * *

Chapter 1 : Monster

Harry fingered his golden ring lightly as he prepared himself, it wouldn't be long now. The outer runes and wards that protected his manor had fallen a few minutes ago and he could hear and feel from here the spells and curses slamming on his front door.

It seemed that fate wouldn't let him be; only a few months had passed since the end of the war.

_Since I ended it_! And already _they_ were at his door step. _Should have seen it… the signs were there…_

He crossed the well furnished room, Black wood and dark red silk giving off a feeling of sober elegance and warm acceptance, it was _his _bedroom after all. He stopped in front of a highly decorated pedestal: 4 feet of black wood carved in an ancient tree from the forbidden forest supported his greatest weapon.

He picked up his trusty sword with great care, the runeblade shining briefly in the candlelight as he swiftly sheathed it in the ornate scabbard on his waist. _The time has come, _he thought, as he felt the runes of his front door weakening. A wave of anger washed through him, _How DARE they! _

He held on his anger, let it warm his blood and prepare him for the battle to come. Let it turn into hate so he wouldn't show mercy. He'd learned a long time ago, through pain and trials, that all the things they said about shiny white knights who felt sorry for their enemies as they slayed them, went to battle with a heavy heart and left it with tears for _all_ the fallen, was utter rubbish.

Compassion and hesitance were as dangerous as blind anger in battle. But hate... Hate helped him focus when his mind wandered, helped him rise his arm when his strength wavered and helped him kill when his heart was still tender.

So it was with hate running like a frozen fire through his veins that he strode to the entrance hall to greet his _guests._

The great doors of Potter manor were visibly shaking under the onslaught, which hadn't diminished since when it started 15 minutes ago. _Fine warding, I'll congratulate the goblins next time I see them… If I see them again that is…_ He smirked, baring his sharp teeth slightly, but soon wiped that expression from his face to take on an emotionless one, lips tightened and eyes devoid of any light.

He checked one last time his many rune traps carved all around the hall and positioned himself a good 50 feet from the entrance. Right in front of it; like a repentant criminal ready to surrender; or a comics' villain, alone for his last stand : an honest duel with the sanctified hero.

_Fools! They won't know what hit them_… he thought cruelly. The Egyptian runes all around his ring glowed a fierce red as he summoned magic around and in himself. He reached to his collar and squeezed the black scorpion amulet there, letting its familiar touch remember him _who_ he was, and chase the last doubts and fears from his thoughts.

The doors shook violently.

He called to the elemental planes of fire and earth with a thought, something that had become as natural as breathing to him. _Well… technically it IS natural for me now… _and felt their power surround him like warm cloak, ready to lay waste on his enemies at his command.

The doors finally gave in and burst in the room with a resounding CRACK.

Harry unsheathed his sword and took a relaxed stance, his sword pointed to the ground beside him, his glowing ring hidden from view.

Figures started to emerge from the smoke where his doors used to stand, robes billowing in the cold wind of the early morning. The dim light of dawn wasn't enough for him to make out their exact number.

_Twenty, maybe thirty... _He would have to wait till they reached the torch lights.

When the leading figure finally came into view, confirming what the earth had already told him, Harry felt a fresh surge of hate course through him, _the snake wants to finish it himself! He "won" the war but couldn't let me be, wouldn't even let his "followers" do the job… _He thought, cold fury wracking through his thoughts; he squashed the urged to eviscerate the man on the spot with practiced ease, _not yet..._

The invaders slowly entered the hall, he recognized some of them from the war and some from before that. Wands trained on him, some faces gleeful, others, more informed ones, trying not to show any fear.

He let them advance in his trap, _just a little more… there! _He shifted and let them see the ring. They stopped at once. _Right in place. _

He started charging the runes that would doom them all. They didn't attack, _he_ would want talk first, _he _always talked to much; but before he could open his mouth Harry uttered his name. He would let this man know all the hate and contempt that he felt for him:

"_Dumbledore.." _His voice, cold as ice, dripped with venom.

He didn't have anything to add to that, words couldn't express the depth of the disgust he felt for the man. Which was good, he concluded, because the runes were charged.

Pain suddenly flared in Harry's body taking him completely by surprise as he was about to activate the runes. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to show any signs of his predicament.

_You won't kill me Dumbledore! I. AM. KILLING. YOU! _The pain receded under the pressure of his occlumency, but the edge of his vision started to change and twist. He snarled and thrust his hand forward, unleashing the traps as the rest of his vision was filled with a twisting nether. The last thing he saw of this world was Dumbledore, the aurors, a few Weasleys and former friends being engulfed in white hot flames.

_Idiots… _He smiled.

* * *

In the entrance hall among the wails of the livings and the stench of the dead, Mathias Mallory stood. He had been far enough from the center of the hall to escape the tower of white flames which vaporized Dumbledore and the majority of their forces. He and the others who survived had immediately raised their most powerful shields in order to protect the injured; just in time, as several other pillars of flames promptly slammed into them from everywhere at once.

At the end of the onslaught, a good half of his magical reserves were spent, just to maintain his shield. Several others were on their knees or breathing hard; Had Potter still been there he would have slaughtered them like cattle. He knew, he had fought beside him a few times during the war.

_What did they expect?_, he thought sadly as he stared at the charred remains of the leader of light. He felt dirty from being there and sick of the very situation. _All of these years, gone to waste because of fear and politics. _He gazed at the place where Potter had stood just a few moments ago, _at least he didn't let us stoop that low, he didn't let us kill our hero._

* * *

A few floor higher, a post owl flew through the opened window and dropped its charge on the dark wood of the nightstand. Seeing that the resident wasn't there, the owl hooted in dismay and took off, he usually had treat for it. On the front page of the owl's charge one could read in great characters: "The Prophet September 9th, 2011"; and just below:

_Harry Potter, __**Our **__monster._

_My dear readers, today is a sad day for Wizarding Britain, and for all of us who call ourselves wizard or witch; a sad and shameful day which will see Harry James Potter arrested. I was present yesterday, at the evening session of the wizengamot when the vote took place. And it is with a heavy heart that I saw the accusations from almost every ICW representatives and the Light followers lead by Albus Dumbledore, finally sway minister Scrimgeour to their view, and thus declaring Mr Potter a war ciminal._

_You my dear readers, will ask: "Why do you defend him Rita? Did he not kill hundreds of European, African, and even Asian wizards? Did he not cruelly slaughter all who opposed him under the pretense of waging war?" Faced with the list of horrors and atrocities he committed you will say "Even war has rules, he cannot be excused, the "black scorpion" must be put down before he turns against us!"_

_As all of you know, as the brave seeker of truth that I am, I followed Mr Potter during the war and was present at his side during most of the 15 years it lasted. I saw it all. Like you, I read the list given by the ICW: murders by the hundreds, kidnappings, illegal use of veritaserum, mind rape,… the list goes on. And I can tell you, it is __not__ thorough._

_Harry James Potter used every mean at his disposal to strike his enemy. That is one of the reasons why he is treated like he is today: instead of protecting us from the terror that the death eaters, the satyrs, and other hell fiends spread, he brought it to them before they could even think of attacking, and as a consequence we see them as victims. Should he have allowed all those foreign wizards to kill a few muggles before slaying them? Just to put our minds at ease? I don't think so!_

_The black scorpion, as we call him is undoubtedly a monster. A terrifying, ruthless, cruel and merciless monster. Why do I defend Him? Because I saw it all. And to fight this war, to win this war against You-Know-Who and his allies, we needed a monster. If not for him, the burning legion and its demons would have consumed us all. Why do I defend him? I defend him because I discovered that despite all its flaws, it is quite warm and safe to be in the shadow of a scorpion._

_Rita Skeeter._

**First one down, many to go?**

**Give me your opinion, whatever it is, it may help me making this story a better one.**

**For those of you who have questions about... anything! I'll answer the most relevants in the next chapter.**

**Until then, goodbye and thank you for reading!**


	2. Jaedenar

**Hello everyone!**

**First I wanted to say thank you to my reviewers, I'm really pleased that you liked it. **

**I know that in my case, I sometimes need more than one chapter to get a clear idea and give my opinion. Hope this chapter will encourage some of you to give me their impressions.**

**Anyway, hope you like it!**

Chapter 2 : Jaedenar

Chaos. That was the only way Harry could describe what he saw: chaos in its purest form. He sailed on and through waves of abstract concrete, dying stars merged with physical emotions. Physics and distance meant nothing here, well at least nothing _stable_, but somehow he knew he was brought somewhere and couldn't do anything about it.

Panic started to rise in him at the thought that he had been captured or kidnapped or… He crushed the useless feeling mercilessly under a hot wave of anger. This cleared his mind enough for him to start thinking. Wherever he was he wasn't helpless, he could still feel his magic coursing through his veins as was the elemental energies he had channeled earlier to incinerate the old man.

Dumbledore… it couldn't be him. First, Harry was pretty sure he burned with the majority of his party... The arrogance of the man! Walking in the home of a rune master without checking for traps first. Second, sending him here, wherever here was, had to have involved chaos magic, and the righteous… pile of ash wouldn't touch that kind of magic with a mile long stick.

Indeed, elemental magic was one of the purest form of chaos magic, and one of the numerous reasons why they had tried to arrest him this morning. It was considered dark, evil even, by the reinstated ministry of magic. In reality chaos magic was truly neutral in that the very concept of good and evil meant nothing to it. Chaos magic opposed order, not good, or life. It just so happened that total chaos was not an appropriate living environment.

So what? It's not like he had wanted to unleash the elemental high lords on the world! Hell! Harry himself was a lord in two of the four elemental planes. And he didn't cause massive destructions.

A bright flash of light interrupted his musings as a green portal opened not far from him . He slowly drifted toward it; and as he was about to pass through, he suddenly felt like Voldemort _and_ Dumbledore had launched a legilimancy attack on him.

It looked like the attack was meant to open a breach into his mind. He understood instinctively that the chaos around him wouldn't allow for anything more harmful or sophisticated to work without twisting it into nothingness. But the breach would allow the chaos to seep in and twist _his_ mind.

The citadel that was his occlumency barrier rose, ready to block the attack; but Harry wouldn't let it at that, he poured his magic and anger at being attacked in his defenses to activate its offensive mechanisms.

The mind arts, and especially occlumency was a curious branch of magic; maybe because it hardly required magic at all. The first thing an occlumens needed was imagination. The second was patience. As Harry had discovered himself, occlumency is not the art of defending oneself against mental attacks. It is a mean to access one's mindscape in order to _build_ those defenses.

Harry had done another startling discovery after a few months of building his defenses: although building one's occlumency barriers was a painstaking long process, it literally didn't have any limit.

As a consequence, the trapped and guarded room where his mind and memories were protected soon became a hidden room in a massive castle. Which in turn became a gigantic warded fortress inhabited by hundreds of mind-guards, ready to push back any invaders at a moment's notice.

While painful, the mental strike barely made it to the first walls.

He was now inches from the portal, and wondered what else this place had in store for him. He didn't have to wait long: as soon as he crossed through the portal, his whole body started to burn, to _melt._ But he didn't feel any pain. It was like the magic in his blood and bones was on fire and somehow re-forging him, changing him. What for? He didn't know.

* * *

B_ut I will get answers,_ he thought irritated, he was getting tired of being jerked left and right, he decided. Another bright flash engulfed him.

* * *

**Shadow hold, Jaedenar, east of felwood.**

Lord Banehollow, dreadlord of the burning legion, carved the last rune of the summoning ritual in the ground of his lair in the depths of shadow hold. He had great hopes for this ritual. Indeed, if it worked, it would be a severe blow to the demons' enemies in Azeroth. More importantly, it could allow him to take his rightful place as the leader of the Nathrezims of the shadow council. He smirked greedily, maybe even grant him the favors of Kil Jaeden.

After the defeat of the legion at the battle of Mount Hyjal, the remnants of the legion scattered across Azeroth allied with warlocks from every races to form the new shadow council. Too weak to represent a real threat to the allied races, in the aftermath of the third war, they had grown steadily, both in number and influence, and were now wreaking havoc all over northern kalimdor and Lorderon.

Lord Banehollow oversaw the activities of the demons in felwood He was proud to say that it was the most fel corrupted region of all Kalimdor. But his true goal was to spread the corruption to Moonglade, stronghold of the Night elves and of the druids of the cenarion circle. As of now, this wasn't possible. But he knew that the Night elves were in a political cold war, not only with the horde, but internally too.

Only Tyrande Whisperwind, he spat at her name, kept them from falling into chaos. Should Tyrande die, Moonglade would fall. It would also be a great relief for all agents of the Council in Kalimdor as Tyrande and her sentinels were the ones that opposed them the most.

It was with those thoughts that he finished the incantation that would hopefully bring Whisperwind to him, helpless, or at least mad from her journey through the twisting nether.

"…_**And may the great foe of the legion be bound by insanity **_

_**And may he be brought before us to suffer a thousand tortures"**_

The circle of runes glowed a sickly green as Banehollow and his orc aid Ur'dan waited. He didn't want to share his success with any of the mortal warlocks. The triumph would be his, he thought as a bright white flash blinded him.

* * *

The light dimmed and Harry was finally able to get a look at where he had been taken. It seemed that he was in a very large cave-like room two story high. Harry himself was situated on a large stone balcony which overlooked the entire cave. On said balcony were a few ruins of a kind he had never heard of, although it did remind him a bit of elven architecture from _the lord of the rings._ The few braziers on the balcony also allowed him to see a bulky green creature a dozen feet from where he stood.

But all those observations didn't quite reach the forefront of his mind, for as soon as he could see again, his irritation, his curiosity, but also his fear about the meaning and the possible outcome of his "kidnapping" of sort were all drowned in white hot rage.

"Nathrezim!" he roared hatefully at the 10 feet tall, bat winged, horn and hoof equipped, vampire-like demon.

The dreadlords of the burning legion had been by far the most terribles and efficient demons that Voldemort summoned to his aid during the war. The cunning, and powerful magic wielders acted as generals during battles and their mere presence seemed to embolden every demon in the vicinity.

Harry didn't wait for the dreadlord's reaction. He thrust his left hand forward,his ring glowing with the magic he used; "**shamsa!" **A wall of elemental fire immediately materialized itself in front of him and rushed at his opponent.

Banehollow yelped in surprise at the sudden attack and shielded himself from the raging inferno coming his way. Harry immediately sprung into action, leaping forward so fast that all Ur'dan saw was a dark blur before Serkhet was buried in his chest to the hilt.

Harry bared his teeth at the dying green skin in an animalistic show of victory, the runes of his blade glowed a hungry red as they drank the life and magic of the creature and passed them to their master. The black scorpion pulled his sword out of Ur'dan's body, _one down…_

He turned his attention to the dreadlord, already preparing his next attack: "**Igni fare" **

* * *

As the dreadlord emerged from the dying fire wall, a swirling sphere of fire, the size of a tennis ball appeared above his left fingers. The Nathrezim looked startled for a moment, that look soon turned into one of horror as he saw the swirling ball rushing at him.

Banehollow dodged in extremis and the fire spell came crashing on the wall behind him. The consequent explosion sent him down face first as a good size of the wall was instantly vaporized.

_This… Was not what was supposed to happen,_ thought Banehollow as he eyed his opponent carefully. This thing that had appeared in the rune circle was definitely _not _Tyrande. Indeed he would rather have had a really pissed off Tyrande. This… whatever it was, was _dangerous_. He had only been there for what? 10? 20 seconds? And already Ur'dan was dead and Banehollow himself had nearly been killed. He could actually see some parts of the late stone wall that had _melted_ under the heat of the spell he dodged.

Well, he had had enough he decided as he quickly rose from the ground. This puny mortal would pay for his impudence.

"Morta…" was as far as he got

* * *

"Morta…" Harry paid no mind to what the dreadlord was about to say as he slammed his foot on the ground. "**Asaer Terrae!" **he yelled, the mix of earth and fire elemental magic reached to the ground beneath his foot as hundreds of cracks spread through the stone balcony.

His balance thrown off due to the first shock, the Nathrezim wasn't fast enough to escape when molten lava brutally erupted from the newly created rift. He cried in pain and took off.

_Oh no you don't,_ thought harry, he gathered his strength, drawing from his ring and the stolen energy from his sword and jumped toward the dreadlord. In less than a second he was face to face with the demon and slashed downward. Banehollow roared in defiance and erected a shield as he put his left wing in front of his face. Serkhet tore through the magical shield as if it wasn't even there and cut the offending wing in half.

Harry laughed savagely in the back of his mind; this was the real reason why Serkhet was his greatest weapon. In the early years of the war, when his greatest foes were death eaters, he had encountered one major obstacle: magic shields. Shields were able to block almost every light spells known, and most definitely all light spells _he_ knew at the end of his fifth year. Moreover, they weren't really costly in terms of magic reserves. And of course it was just unthinkable for the Boy-Who-Lived to use dark magic (dixit Dumbledore). Discovering Serkhet had been a turn in the war; using the sword's abilities combined with the pureblood cluelessness in close combat had enabled him and his brother in carnage, the _not so gentle _Hagrid, to turn over the tide. They had soon been known for their efficiency and violent ways (blades _are_ messier than spells).

Banehollow fell back to the floor with a howl of pain and rage and sent a cloud of corrupted insects toward Harry as soon as he landed a few feet from him. Harry incinerated the deadly insects with a second **shamsa **and jumped forward, sword ready to strike, hidden behind the wall of fire. He wasn't the only one to have taken the opportunity, however, and a beam of sickly green energy tore through the fire only a foot from Harry.

The sword master twisted his body in mid-air as fast as he could, but was nonetheless hit on his side. Harry greeted his teeth in pain, and summoned all of his rage and hate, let them warm his blood and push back the pain. He reared back his sword, took it in both hands, and slammed it through the nathrezim armored chest as soon as it appeared. Right in his heart. Harry pulled it out quickly, side stepping the falling demon, and when it was on its knees, beheaded it with one powerful strike.

_Damn that hurt,_ he thought as he pressed a hand to his injured side. The fel energy had pierced his dragonhide long coat and struck just beneath his left ribs. Another reason why Nathrezim were so dangerous, their corrupted was hard to block and almost impossible to heal. As it was, if he could find somewhere to rest his magic and the energies he would draw from the elements would heal him in a week or two. He cleaned his sword with the robe of his first victim, paying no mind to the blood still spurting from the headless body.

_But first, I have to get out of here. _He clenched his teeth tightly, ignoring the pain. He tilted his head to the side and grimaced before his face turned blank. _Footsteps… _His eyes emptied themselves of all emotions once again, only leaving behind that of an animal, a predator. The black scorpion surged toward the approaching noise.

* * *

**Finished!**

**Well I hope you liked it :p **

**Please review, and if you have any questions i'd be glad to answer them.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi all!**

**Some people asked a few question about this story so I'll try to answer them:  
First, don't try to put this Harry in a box: good/evil, shaman/warrior/death knight,… He won't fit in; he has his style and motivations/values. Second, Serkhet is not Frostmourn or any uber powerful sword: all it does is pierce through almost every magic shield, and give a **_**temporary **_**boost of power to Harry, nothing permanent. This is in the logic of not making Harry god-like, I saw too much fan fiction where authors gave their hero so much powers that they had to make them brain dead so the story could last more than 2 chapter. My Harry is powerful, yes. But first of all he is **_**dangerous:**_** ruthless, he won't let you breath, one mistake and your dead, one opportunity, one loophole, he won't miss it. **

**Well after these clarifications; I don't own Harry Potter or warcraft. **

**Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 3: Escape

Harry wasn't pleased _at all_. First, the pain from the dead Nathrezim's curse constantly grated on his nerves. Second, he had come across a good deal of lower demons and demons' allies. While they were few and far between, _fortunately, _some of these robed demon worshipper were humans!

The anger rose once again at the thought of humans willingly siding with the burning legion. Killing them had been most satisfactory.

He also concluded that the green skinned creatures that looked like the one he killed before the dreadlord weren't demons but mortals. Indeed, the majority of the warlocks he encountered belonged to that race.

But the worse piece of news was that his traditional magic didn't seem to work all that well here. Indeed, after he killed the two warlocks who came in the cave, he tried to disillusion himself in order to leave the place without further conflict.

It didn't work. Annoyed and a bit anxious, he tried again. And again. More than a bit anxious by now, he tried a few other spells picked from his, admittedly, limited repertoire.

Transfiguration didn't work. At all. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed that his magic was more dependent on what was physically possible here.

As a consequence he had had to rely on his natural speed and stealth to silence anyone and anything he came across so they didn't raise the alarm. Fortunately the warlocks and demons present didn't expect an attack from this side of the tunnels.

_Well it IS a dead end; _plus, they only hung out in groups of two or three at a time. He chuckled under his breath; it was like they had wanted him to take them out.

Seeing no other solutions, Harry had killed several of these groups, cutting them down mercilessly; _especially the humans_. But now he had hit a wall. Well, not a real wall, but he was at the threshold of another large cavern, hidden in the shadows of the torches lighting the place.

The place was not as large or as high as the cave where he had been summoned. But it was better furnished. A few dark tents were set up against the circular wall, which was partly covered by several tapestries. A few tables were placed near the center. He didn't want to think about how they got what laid on a few of them.

What worried him though, was the fact that there was twenty two people in that room. _Not people: ten demon loving scum bags, ten satyrs and two succubi._

Those odds shouldn't have worried him that much. With a good laid plan, the surprise factor, and the fact that satyrs tended to panic when too much fire was involved he normally could have cooked up something without problem.

Two things made it difficult, his injury: the corruption would slow down his own magic; and the skinny looking green guy who played with the succubi on his throne. Even from here he could feel his power. The mini-troll like thing was without doubt the real boss here, and Harry would rather _not_ get into a full out duel with him while surrounded by two dozen enemies.

_He has to go down first then, _He thought as the beginning of a plan formed in his mind. He kneeled and put his left hand flat on the ground. He drew strength from the earth plane, letting its strong and stable nature sooth him for a while before intoning his spell: "**Aterrae"**.

The ground shuddered a bit before the other entrance of the room shut itself smoothly, silently. He didn't want to be interrupted.

He rose quickly to his feet as cries of surprise started to resound in the cave. Harry grabbed his sword tightly in both hands as he prepared to _slide._

_Sliding _was a lot like apparition: it required concentration and a little time to prepare, this being the reason why it wasn't really used in battle other than to escape. _Sliding _however required the slider to see his destination. The advantage was that the typical disorientation from apparating was avoided, as you knew exactly where you went.

Harry fixed his destination with burning intensity, raised his blade to the side, and swung with as much force as he could muster. Mid-swing he _slid… _just in front of the throne.

Its three occupants never knew what happened to them as Serkhet cleaved the group in half and drank their life.

Harry allowed a dark smirk to curl up his lips as he felt the potent rush of magic seeping in him through the rune blade. He welcomed it and immediately put it to use before his enemies recovered from their shock.

He extended his arms, the fire building inside him, and yelled: "**aburro!"**

Waves after waves of fire were released, lighting up tents, clothes and furs; crawling on the ground and up the walls. Panicked shrieks and angry shouts echoed all around, adding to the confusion. Harry tightened his grip on Serthek and threw himself at the scattered warlocks.

_They are the real danger right now, _he thought as he saw aflame satyrs bumping into each other like idiots.

The first two never stood a chance. He beheaded the first with one swift swing and nailed the second by the throat before he could lift his eyes from his burning robes.

The scorpion weaved through them, each strike lethal, too fast to be aimed. Soon he was hacking the last of them, _a human,_ into pieces.

He ducked low just after he removed the second limb of the last warlock, dodging an angry sweep from a satyr. Harry spun around, cutting off the offending hand in the process.

The satyr howled in pain, clutching his arm. The blade master took the opportunity and drove his weapon right through its open mouth. He turned toward the assembling satyrs and let out a roar of challenge and fury before leaping at them. Adrenalin and magic pulsed and beat like a war drum in his hears; his blade was coated in blood, which was fuming at the contact of the glowing runes. Faster and faster he stroke, sliced and cut down the satyrs until he was finally alone in the room.

He took a few deep breaths, but stopped as he heard a low whimper. The now armless warlock was still alive.

He sneered, _useless piece of shit!_ He strode quickly toward the already dying man and kneeled in front of him. Unfortunately, using legilimency on an agonizing man was _not _a good idea.

"Where are we?" he asked coldly, his eyes boring into the warlock's with a sinister promise in them should his answers not prove satisfactory. The man seemed to pick up on that because he answered at once, despite his already glassy eyes.

"We are in Jaedenar." Harry cheered at the use of English._ At least I'll be able to communicate with the locals._

"Where and what is Jaedenar?"

"It's a night elf ruin in central-west felwood… Please…" he started to pant.

"Shut up! Where and what is Felwood?" Harry was getting frustrated with the man's answers, and what the hell was a night elf?

"A large… corrupted forest… northern Kalimdor… Azeroth."

Harry didn't recognize a single name, and that confirmed one of the theories he made up during his short time here. It seemed that he was in a different world, maybe in another dimension. He returned to the interrogation.

"Ok now tell me…" The man wouldn't tell anything anymore, ever. He sighed in disappointment and stood up. Gritting his teeth under the pain of the corrupted wound and of the few cuts he got fighting the satyrs he stood up and faced the sealed entrance, _time to go. _Focusing on his hate for demons he marched forward with renewed determination.

* * *

Arko'Narin was desperate. It had already been two days since she and Trey Lightforge had been captured, and one since the warlocks of Jaedenar had taken the knight of the silver hand away. They had given Trey's enchanted sword, the lightforge to the satyr prince, Xavalis.

She knew that her friend was already dead, tortured for information if not for the demons twisted amusement. It would almost certainly be her fate too.

A tear rolled along the young night elf's cheek. _Oh Elune, please, do not let this be the end, _she prayed to the moon goddess.

_No. _She shook herself._ I won't show weakness to those beasts, _she thought, wiping her tears as a modicum of her race's pride returned to her.

For the tenth time today she looked around the room where she was kept, looking for something that might help her escape.

She was kept in a small wooden cage, near the west wall of the room. The room itself was the second cave inside shadow hold; one cave away from the entrance if she managed to get out of this cage. Facing her directly was the entrance to the private lair of Xavalis and his brethren. The north side included the entrance of the tunnels that led to the depth of shadow hold. The entrance through which Trey disappeared the day before… _I can't think about that now, _She chastised herself.

There really wasn't anything else to say about the room; _Oh yes, maybe that there's a dozen satyrs and one __**felguard**__ guarding me! _She thought sarcastically.

At least they hadn't eaten Karri yet. She shivered once again, this time for her frostsaber friend and loyal mount; she could see her from here, chained to the wall.

A distant sound interrupted her circling thoughts. Arko'narin's long and pointed hears twitched slightly. It almost sounded like…_ the sound of metal tearing through leather. Or flesh…_

Her heart started beating wildly, her mouth went dry. _Could this be help coming? _She thought, her chest almost bursting with hope. The Satyrs hadn't noticed.

There was just something that didn't add up with that sound, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

Suddenly, a scream tore through the air. The room froze at the sound. She knew what was wrong with it now: it came from the north entrance, not from the south, where help would have come from.

The demons looked at the tunnel's entrance with curiosity; screams weren't that rare around here, but this _did _sound like an orc. Orcs weren't often punished that way, what with Fel'dan being an orc _and_ the mortal leader of shadow hold.

The young elf felt her throat tightened. "Trey?" she murmured fixing the north threshold intensely.

The man that barreled into the room was _not _Trey lightforge. He moved so fast that in the dim light, all she saw was a great shadow, a glint of steel and burning red dots descending upon the felguard like Cenarius' judgment. The warrior locked blades with the demon before launching himself in a flurry of attacks, forcing the felguard to jump back.

The satyrs didn't stand idle for long and soon jumped into the fray.

"Behind you!" she warned. It seemed that he already sensed them as he twisted gracefully in mid air, pointed the satyrs with his left hand and said something she didn't quite catch.

The results, however, she did. Arko'Narin felt her jaw hit the floor as a pillar of fire as large as an ogre descended upon the satyrs from the roof of the cave. The tower of fire slammed in their midst, leaving only charred bodies and hot cinders.

While the satyrs were annihilated, the stranger fell back on the ground, keeping the felguard occupied. She saw that he used his speed and the weight of the demon's axe to weave around him and strike each chance he got. The felguard seemed to get frustrated at being danced around and lifted his axe high in the air, intent on dealing a killing blow.

He never got the chance. To the young elf shock, as soon as the axe was out of his way, the stranger stroke with lightning speed; and impaled the demon's head on his sword.

The felguard gave a few spasms before slumping on the ground.

Arko was about to speak when a nine feet tall satyr marched into the room. "_**Keep quiet you trash..."**_ He froze at the devastation of the room, and then turned to glare murderously at the warrior. This one didn't wait for the demon to engage the battle. He bent down to seize the monstrous axe of the late felguard.

Arko saw that the ring at his finger glowed brightly before he _threw _the gigantic axe with all his might. Said axe left his hand like a cannonball. Xavalis' eyes just had the time to widen in fear before his torso exploded in two halves under the sheer force of the impact.

The prisoner didn't know if she should sheer or puke at the sight of the late satyr prince. At least, now that the room was cleared, sort of… She could take a good look at the author of this massacre.

He was tall for a human: 6'3, maybe 6'4; he wore a long dark coat which seemed to be cut for battle and was made of scales of some sort.

The sword he held in his right hand had a 4 feet single edged blade, slightly serrated at the base and a feet from the top; the hilt seemed to be decorated with obsidian scorpions, the guard was long enough to be seized with two hands and wrapped in black leather. And of course, a series of runes, which had stopped glowing, were carved on the blade.

The man himself was lean but had broad shoulders; his hair was quite a sight: it fell to the middle of his back in savage black locks; a few of those locks were arranged in braids that were maintained backward by what looked suspiciously like carved bones. It gave off a feral feeling.

When her eyes settled on his face however, she thought that maybe _human_ wasn't quite fitting to describe the being in front of her. High cheekbones and sharp features met her gaze; _too _sharp to be human, his hears were pointed but were barely longer than human ones. Thin, almost cruel looking lips; regal nose; the harmony was ruined by scars: one crossed the jaw line on the left of his face, the other begun an inch above his right eyebrow and disappeared in the hairline.

But it was his eyes that made Arko'Narin shiver; those dark emerald green eyes weren't those of a human. They were the eyes of a beast, a _predator._ The fact that he was literally drenched in blood didn't help either.

She shook herself out of her trance; this scary man could help her escape and she wouldn't let that chance pass by her. He was still standing there, looking at the exit and breathing heavily.

She cleared her throat.

"Greeting warrior, my name is Arko'narin. Could you free me? I'd be eternally thankful."

He turned his head and looked right into her eyes, his face completely neutral. Arko flinched under the gaze but didn't break contact, she felt like he was looking right into her soul.

After a few second he broke the stare contest and approached the cage. She backed off, slightly afraid. He didn't seem to pay any attention to it as he grabbed the wooden door and murmured: "**igni mane"**. Just like that, the door was ash. He backed off a few feet and asked:

"Do you know how to get out of here?"

She looked at him cautiously and answered: "Yes, I think we can be fast enough to run past them if we climb on Karri." She figured she owed him that, even if the idea of sharing a seat on Karri with him made her blood run cold.

He turned to look at the pony sized white tiger, went to it, and cut its chains with one strike.

"Alright, let's go then."

"Ok, no, wait a minute." She quickly went over the remains of Xavalis, picked the lightforge and came back to the warrior.

"Let's go."

* * *

**Finished! Hope you liked it!**

**The battles are finished for a while (eh everybody needs their rest!)**

**Give me your opinions and thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Warcraft.**

**Hello everyone! Well this is chapter 4. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 4 : Emerald help

As he rode through the forest of felwood, each leap of the frost tiger shaking him painfully, Harry thought back on his recent escape from Jaedenar.

After defeating the powerful orc warlock and his sucubi pets, he went on to try and find the exit of the maze of caves and tunnels that was Shadow hold. A few tunnels later he stumbled upon Arko'Narin.

Ironically, it was that last fight, which should have been one of the easiest, that had been the more taxing. Indeed, casting those two spells when tired and injured had cost him a lot.

After a quick legilimancy scan, he freed the Night elf and hopped on the giant tiger. One tunnel and a cave later, he was finally outside.

The camp of Jaedanar, as the armless warlock called it, was situated at the base of a rocky hill. A few stone ruins of the same elf design he had observed before were scattered all around the place and used as refuges, or places to camp by the satyrs and warlocks presents.

As "Karri" shot out of shadow hold, which had been dug inside the hill itself, every single Jaedenar resident locked their eyes on them. They barely made it out of the camp before the chase begun. Harry had had to grit his teeth and hold on for dear life as the tiger jumped left and right between the trees and the ruins before it reached some kind travel road.

From then on they had engaged an endurance contest between Arko's frost tiger, the warlocks' felsteed and the tireless satyrs. Harry wasn't a fool; he knew that with the two of them to carry, their mount would tire pretty quickly. Moreover cats weren't known for their endurance, but rather for their speed.

That was why, despite being on the brink of fainting from pain and exhaustion, he had fed sliver of his magic to the tiger every hour or so, to keep it running.

They fled to the south, the plants and trees on each side of the path were a sickly green and sported disgusting mutation, and the air itself looked corrupted; he had never seen fel corruption reach such an extent in his world.

Twenty miles or so after they reached the travel road, it looked like their pursuers had finally given up. Arko'narin kept the pace during a few more miles before slowing down to a fast walk. Harry felt like Christmas had come early.

_Thanks god it's over!_ Was his only coherent thought. He sighed heavily and winced; the ride hadn't done any good to his wounds. He released his grip on the night elf before him to press his hand on his side.

The woman shifted and turned her head to look at him,

"Warrior, I'm thankful for your actions back there; but I have a few questions…" She said somewhat hesitantly.

He focused his gaze on her. In truth, he had been too preoccupied back in the cave to really pay any attention to her. His scan had told him that she was relatively trustworthy, willing to help and quite afraid of him. A combination that met his needs perfectly.

Now that escaping wasn't his top priority anymore, he focused his attention on her. He assumed that she was one of those "night elf" the warlock at talked about. To his surprise, she was almost the exact opposite of a house elf, but also quite different from the classic elves one can read about in fantasy books. She was tall, maybe 6 feet, and even with the chainmail and plate armor she wore, he could tell she had a well formed body.

That thought might have provoked a physical reaction, considering his position behind her, had he not been in such a bad shape. _Too bad, _he thought sarcastically. He returned to his examination; her face was definitely the most exotic thing about her: long pointed hears angled to the back of her head; her shoulder long dark blue hair framed a beautiful pale-bluish face. The real shock however was the glowing blue eyes that illuminated the whole.

He sighed, _might as well get to know more about this world._ He had no idea how the Nathrezim summoned him there; _even if I knew, would I want to go back? _He pushed this line of thoughts to the back of his mind for later examination.

"Ask away."

"What…" she started, but faltered. She glanced at him nervously and started again.

"How did you get there? Were you a prisoner of the shadow council? And if you were, why would they want you? And by the way, who are you?" She stopped when she realized she was babbling.

_Shadow council? Must be the warlocks, they use to like fancy names._

"Let's start simple, my name is Harrison Potter, you?" She blushed in embarrassment at this reminder of her babble, which made her cheeks turn an interesting shade of blue.

"Arko'Narin." She said softly.

"To answer your questions, the agents of the demons have a lot of reasons to go after me", _revenge for one. _"As for how I got here, I don't really know; I _think_ that the Nathrezim summoned me here with some kind of ritual, don't think that he really expected _me_ to come though." He smirked. _No, he definitely didn't see that one coming._

Arko'narin choked at the mention of the dreadlord, she turned completely to look at him in the eyes.

"You faced Banehollow? How did you escaped?" She asked flagger basted.

He looked at her quizzically "I didn't. There was only one way out of this network of caves and tunnels, and nowhere to hide." He locked his eyes with her and coldly stated: "I had to kill what was in the way."

She nearly fell off of Karri at this. What _was_ this man? The people who could fight dreadlord on even ground were rare; those who lived to tell the tale even more so. Then what he said really registered in her mind, and her fear of the stranger was overcome with excitement. She asked him what he did and what he saw in the underground tunnels before he found her. He told her; taking deep breaths from time to time. The dreadlord had apparently done quite a number on him.

As he finished his recount of the events, she could do little more than gape at him like a retarded murloc. Her fear of him almost gone, chased by awe. If what he told her was the truth, and after witnessing the brutal execution of Xavalis she did trust him, he had killed almost every leaders of the local branch of the shadow council here in Felwood. Including Fel'dan, the powerful orc warlock that had ordered Trey's execution.

"H-How did you do it?" She stuttered, still having difficulties processing what he had just told her.

"Fifteen years ago, the place where I come from entered a great war, one that would dwarf any of the precedent by its brutality and duration. Eleven years ago, the enemies' leader started fiddling with demonic portal; he stumbled upon the burning legion and allied himself with them." He said with a distant look, "Let's say that I have experience".

He then looked at her cautiously; _if I want her to help me around here, I have to tell her this._

"As you probably guessed by now, I'm not from around here. I am pretty sure that this summoning ritual took me from another world, or maybe from another dimension, as I have no idea where I am and had never encountered a being like you before." He said.

Arko'Narin had indeed wondered about this war she had never heard of. The words of the stranger comforted her too; _he is lost and wounded in a new world, he needs help._ She took a look at him, his stony eyes still unnerving but no longer frightening; she then lowered her gaze to his clutched side.

"We'll soon arrive at the Emerald sanctuary. It is a settlement shared by Tauren and Night elves of the Cenarion circle; once there we will be able to heal your wounds and answer your questions."

She looked back at the road; _Jessir will have a heart attack when I tell her._

An hour later, they finally reached the druid settlement. A dirt path led to it, a few hundred feet from the main road they had followed. It was built like a small village, and wouldn't house more than one or two hundred Night elves and Taurens.

Harry, however, was in no condition to appreciate the view, or throw more than one glance to the curious cow-like people roaming around the wooden houses of the Emerald sanctuary. His eyes were shut in pain and his head wobbling from the fatigue.  
_Ow! Ow! That hurt. _He thought, barely coherent now. Feeding energy to that damn cat for hours at end had been the last straw. And now, with his magic so weak, he couldn't prevent the corruption of his wound from spreading anymore.

He blinked tiredly in Arko's direction. He gave her all the incentives he could to help him. Now it was her choice. _Not _something he wanted to think about.

They stopped in front of one of the largest building.

"I need some help here!" He heard her shout. Relief washed through him at those words.

People started to come out of the wooden inn. Some night elves and some cows, dressed in… twigs and leaves? Harry was too tired to do a double take, too tired to listen to what they were saying. All he could do was concentrate not to pass out when they took him off his perch.

He winced in pain as one solid pair of arms hauled him indoors and laid him slowly on a soft mattress.

* * *

As his conscience and the memories of the recent events came back to him, Harry gradually became aware of the presence of other people in the room.

His eyes fluttered open and did a quick scan of his surroundings. Arko'narin stood beside the bed, talking to one of the twig-dressed people. Another elf, male, big, purple hair and beard, was bending over him and examining his injuries.

He could see his sword and the rest of his clothes lying in a corner of the room. Harry took a look at his condition: he was lying on a bed, his chest bare except for the bandages covering his wounds and the scorpion amulet resting above his heart. He guessed that there would be at least one addition to his battle scar collection. _One more story to tell_, he thought.

_At this rhythm I'll be a walking novel in a few years_.

The purple bearded druid; _seriously, purple?_ Finally noticed his return to the livings and spoke:

"Hello Harrison Potter; I see that you are awake." His voice was deep, but not threatening. The statement halted the conversation between Arko'Narin and the Night elf female as they turned to look at him.

"Yes, thank you for taking care of me…" Harry said, looking straight into the golden orbs that were the eyes of this elf. He could only sense honesty and kindness from this one.

"That's quite all right." He answered truthfully, "We, druids of the cenarion circle, have sworn to protect life and nature. I did what was expected of me in this situation."

"Plus," Interrupted the female druid, "If what Arko'Narin told us is true, we owed you that at the very least" She said with an inquisitive tone. This one seemed to be curious about him. _No wonder if Arko told them of our escape!_

"That's very noble of you." _And very convenient, _he thought as he explored his wounds with the help of magic. The druids had done a good job, stopping the corruption of his side from spreading, and healing all the minor injuries he received during his various battles. Now he just had to wait a few weeks: two, maybe three; and his magic, with a little elemental help, would purge his body completely.

"You're welcome. I'm afraid though, that we only managed to contain the evil that hurt you. In order to heal it, we would need water from an uncorrupted moonwell." Harry raised an eyebrow at that; _healing_ a fel-infected wound was not something he had heard of.

"Unfortunately," the druid continued, "there aren't any in Felwood. This is why we waited for you to wake up; so you could be escorted to Astranaar."

The druid woman was clearly not thinking along the same lines, but she was stopped before she could start to argue by the man's raised hand. "We cannot keep him here Jessir; first, this kind of wound must be treated as soon as possible before the corruption can spread. Second…"

And there he cast Harry an unsure glance, "this is not the circle's responsibility to deal with, the sentinels must be made aware of this." This, however, was spoken with authority and confidence, accompanied by a stern look in the female's direction.

Jessir narrowed her eyes at first, and then huffed as she understood that she wouldn't win this battle. Harry didn't like this one bit: he wasn't _anyone's _responsibility. Right now though, he couldn't do anything about it. At least, it didn't seem like they thought of him as a potential enemy, if the presence of all his weapons in the room was to go by.

_No, they just don't know what to think, so they send me to the "higher ups." _He relaxed at that thought. He could deal with those "sentinels" when he meets them.

"Ok then, how do I go to this Astranaar?" He asked. Arko'Narin perked up at this.

"I can bring him with me by hippogriff; it's on my way to Darnassus anyway. And it wouldn't be safe for him to fly alone." She babbled slightly. She stopped, and her eyes widened at her boldness. The druid-man chuckled lightly at that. "It's decided then." He turned to face Harry, "you should rest, it's only a few hours fly from here to Astranaar, but in your condition it will be quite exhausting."

Harry nodded and shut his eyes as they left the room. _Purple!_

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**Four down! I hoped you enjoyed this one. I know that after all the battles it may seem a bit boring but hey! It couldn't go on forever.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello all! Sorry for the long wait: major case of writer block here. But I didn't abandon the story.**

**Special thanks to Olaf74, your review made me laugh :)**

**Well, enjoy! And review!**

**Disclaimer: not mine.**

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Chapter 5: Nightblade

Ilyena strode purposefully through the streets of Astranaar, her long white hair waving behind her like a flag in the wind. The young sentinel captain had just been _summoned_ by Raene Wolfrunner, the official ruler of the Night elf city. Ilyena's face scrunched up at the thought of her commander, her steps hitting the pavement a bit heavier as she walked toward the building where Raene resided.

Raene and she had… difficulties. Ilyena snorted at that thought, her little frame relaxing into a more casual pace. _More like I can't stand the b… _She stopped that line of thoughts before she worked herself up again. Instead, she tried to guess what Raene would want from her this time. _Maybe she was called back to Darnassus and called to tell me about the great new?_ She thought, but she crushed the hope before it could rise in her chest. _More likely she found something to scold me about like… ugh!_ Sometimes, well… All the time, she'd like Raene to stop treating her like she was a 50 years old baby!

_Or, it could be about the stranger who arrived in the morning, _she thought, curiosity sparkling in her almond shaped eyes. She had heard rumors about a wounded… someone. The rumors weren't clear about which race the wounded man belonged to. All she knew was that he had been in a pretty bad shape and had to be carried to the _Moon's rest, _an inn in center Astranaar that was used as an infirmary when the need arose. Ilyena, although she had fought during the third war, had never left the northern forests of Kalimdor; and she was quite curious about the outside world.

_Again, unlikely, _she thought; she wasn't a druid, and what business could Raene have with the wounded man anyway?

She stopped walking when she realized that she was in front of Raene's "center of command". She sighed, straightened up, and after a nod to her two sentinel sisters who were on guard, walked in.

Like all Kaldorei's buildings, this one was very open, stone and wood, soft angles and dark colors that didn't offend the eye. It was supposed to give a "natural" aspect to something that wasn't, or so she thought; the house and its builders had a few millennia on her after all.

Raene's eyes locked on hers as soon as she stepped in the main room. _Whoa! Creepy… _She had apparently been talking to another woman. Ilyena looked her up. Night elf, blue hair, the newcomer wore plate armor and exotic weapons that looked human made. _Surely an adventurer,_ she thought with a tinge of envy; _travelling the world, discovering new place, absolutely no Raene around…_

She was torn from her short reverie by Raene's melodic bark:

"Captain Nightblade!"

"Yes commander?" She answered, giving Raene her full attention. She might dislike her very much, but Ilyena Nightblade was a professional, a sentinel captain, the _elite_ of the night elf armies. _Even if no one believes it other than me!_

"I called you here because I have a task of importance to give you." _Gee, thanks!_

"Indeed," Raene continued, "Arko'Narin here has troubling information concerning the man she brought with her. I assume you heard about the wounded arrived earlier today?" The captain simply nodded.

"Well, it seems that the _Moon's rest _newest guest is potentially dangerous." She stopped. Ilyena waited, it wasn't really preoccupying yet, surely not enough for Raene to call her.

"He needs to be guarded." Raene added after a moment of silence. The young elf resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her superior's obviousness.

"I'll post a couple of guards outside his room." Really, Raene could have done it herself.

"No, _you_ are going to guard him, and…"

"What?" She couldn't believe it! Even if checking out the stranger was appealing, she was _captain!_ Not babysitter! But before she could tell this to Raene, the commander raised her hands to stop her.

"Calm down and let me finish!" Ilyena reined herself in at that. _She better have a good reason._

"As I was about to say, you will guard him, but your main assignment is interrogating him." The older woman lowered her hands and scratched her pet wolf behind the ears before she continued.

"And it has to be you because when I said dangerous, I really meant _dangerous."_

Ilyena was confused; she didn't like being confused; so when she was, she asked questions, lots of questions, fast.

"I still don't understand; is he a prisoner? A horde? What do we want to know about him? And why do _I _have to be the one asking the questions? Dangerous? What do you mean _dangerous_?"

At this last one Arko'Narin stepped in, partly because she wanted to answer, but also because she was only too familiar with babble fests herself.

"We mean dreadlord-dangerous." She piped in, "And no, he isn't a prisoner, or horde, or Azerothian for that matter; that's why we want to know about him..." She cast a nervous glance at Raene, "I think…?"

The older woman smiled to the adventurer. "Quite." She then turned to Ilyena who seemed to be stuck on the "dreadlord-dangerous" comment. "This," she pointed at the adventurer, "is Arko'Narin; she was the first to make contact with the man we're talking about. She will tell you the whole story so you can understand better the situation." She motioned to Arko who proceded to do just that.

* * *

"… and we arrived here a few hours ago." Arko finished.

Ilyena was struggling. The young captain was trying very hard _not_ to gape like a fish, which would be very un-captain like of her, or call bullshit (no offense to Taurens intended). Indeed, Arko'narin story was quite impressive, especially the very graphic description of the foreign warrior's fight. And Raene wouldn't have called her if she thought this was a joke. Raene wasn't in that kind of humor… Now that she thought about it, she didn't think that the old hunter had any kind of humor at all.

As Arko finished her story, Raene, who had been watching her the whole time, surely to judge her reaction, said.

"You understand now why I chose _you _to guard and interrogate him; it is important that we know everything we can about him and the place he comes from." She shuddered and gazed at the wall, a distant expression taking over her features, "we must know if he and his people are a threat to us, I don't want to think about what an army of such warriors could do here." She focused on Ilyena again.

"Do you have any questions about your assignment?" The white haired elf shook her head slowly, her mind still caught in the implications of what her captain had just said. "Then go watch over him, I want a report as soon as possible about anything you could learn from him."

Ilyena saluted absently, nodded to the adventurer, and walked out of the house. Excitement and frustration warred in her head as she made her way to the _Moon's rest_. Indeed, the wounded stranger had gone from potentially interesting straight to downright fascinating in one conversation. She sighed frustrated; she tugged a strand of silky white hair in annoyance, because despite the situation's seriousness, it shouldn't have been her job to watch him.

She was captain of the sentinels affected to Astranaar. In fact she was the _only_ captain present in the whole Ashenvale. This, theoretically, made her the officer in command around here. _But_ she was only 500 years old. A young adult in Night elf society, and by all means, she shouldn't have risen so fast. But the third war, with its toll of death had increased the need for competent officer.

Ilyena closed her eyes, pushing the memories of the circumstances of her promotion in the back of her mind. At the end of the war though, the rulers of the night elves were not thrilled when they had to acknowledge her rank: she hadn't been there during the sundering or during the war of the ancient, she was too young to shoulder the responsibilities that her rank entailed.

But she _had _a good record, _and_ the support of the Nightblades survivors. Thus, instead of demoting her, they found another way of stripping her from her authority: Raene Wolfrunner.

Ilyena finally reached her destination. The inn was fairly large for a night elf building: three stories of hard wood and white stone towered over her. The white haired captain entered and went directly to the third floor.

As she entered the newly dubbed infirmary, Ilyena had her first glimpse of the wounded warrior. She couldn't see much of him but she had the time to make out a wild mane of raven colored hair spread out on the white pillow, and an exceptionally pale skin before the druid tending to him got up from his seat next to the door, and reclaimed her attention.

"_Elune adore _captain, you are here to take up the guard duty, yes?"

Ilyena simply nodded, she didn't need to be reminded of her _orders. _Instead, she decided to focus on her soon to be charge.

"What can you tell me about him? Is he still in danger?" She asked.

The placid druid seemed to lit up at that. "Yes, he is quite a fascinating patient! But to answer your question, he is perfectly well at the moment, and should be up after a few days of rest." The druid said enthusiastically.

She lifted an eyebrow at that. Druids were known to be very difficult to excite, especially the old ones who had communed with the forest and the emerald dream for extended periods of time.

"How so?" That was all the incentive he needed.

"First off, I can reasonably affirm that he isn't part of a known race of Azeroth. Despite his relative resemblance to the high elves or blood elves, the total absence of arcane energy in his system rules out this possibility."

Ilyena nodded at that, these long lost cousins of the Kaldorei were so addicted to arcane magic that they would literally wither and die without it.

"What about human?" She asked.

The venerable shape shifter shook his head at that. "Too many physical differences, he doesn't look human _at all_. And if he _was_ human, whatever happened to him changed the very core of his being."

"But that's not all!" His eyes, which had turned thoughtful after Ilyena's proposition, sparkled with excitement again. "When they brought him here, he had been hit with a very powerful fel curse."

She winced at that, those were just nasty. He nodded in agreement.

"The thing is, he didn't need me to heal him. His whole body is saturated with elemental energy and some kind of holy magic which were already fighting the infection."

The sentinel captain added this to the already long list of questions she would have to ask their guest when he woke up. "Thank you, I'll take it from here. You should report this to Raene, she'll want to know of this."

He nodded in acceptance and left the room after a brief goodbye. _Finally, _she was alone with the stranger and could do what she had wanted to do since she entered the room. Giving in to her curiosity she crept to the bed and took in the sight of him.

A brief intake of air resonated in the room. Now she understood why the old druid had so easily ruled out the idea of this man being human. His features were sharp, too sharp, even for an elf. His high cheekbones, his pointed ears, his long hair littered with small braids and little bone ornaments screamed danger and feral power.

He wasn't handsome she decided, the term didn't fit; his figure was too foreign to be subjected to the elf ideal of beauty. Despite that, she couldn't help but feel entranced. There was something, a burning _intensity _that, even asleep, oozed from him in waves and captivated her.

She flopped unceremoniously on the chair next to his bed, her gaze still fixed on him.

_Who are you?_

* * *

_Harry strode through the halls of the ministry, his steps resonating loudly in the empty corridors. _

_His face was grim, his emerald eyes fixed determinately in front of him. He was 18; the war had started 3 years ago. And they were losing. _

_This was why he was doing this he reminded himself. A week ago, he came back from his trip in Egypt with new ideas, a new determination, and a new __**faith**__ in what he was fighting for. _

_He sighed. He had carefully approached every order members individually about his ideas. He had been shot down at every turn. Even with the extremely softened version he had used to test them. _

_Dumbledore, he hadn't even tried; he found himself losing the faith and respect he had had for the old leader of the light as the war went on. The solution was right in front of them: in the present situation, they had months, maybe a year before they lost; but they were too afraid to do what __**had**__ to be done. _

_He wasn't alone though. Help had come from the most unlikely source: Hagrid. What most forgot about the gentle half giant was that he __**was **__a half __**giant**__. War ran through the very veins of this race._

_And thus, he took comfort in the echoes of his friends steps; one step to the left and behind him. Hagrid had prepared himself for the occasion. Shaved from head to toe, his fearsome stature seemed all the more imposing; war paints covered his bare torso, protections against magic, and part of his face._

_Finally, they arrived in front of the wizengamot chamber. Today was a full session, but unfortunately, the war had kept Dumbledore too occupied to come._

_Harry grasped the obsidian scorpion which rested above his heart and murmured a soft prayer under his breath. He checked his sword to see if it left its scabbard without effort; he heard Hagrid checking his axe, a present from Harry. _

_As known light fighters, they were allowed to carry weapons in the ministry. Harry exhaled loudly threw a last glance at his companion and braced himself against the heavy doors._

_The loud arguing of the politicians came to an instant halt as the doors of the chamber slammed heavily against the stone walls. In the silence that ensued, Harry marched to the ministry seat as Hagrid shut back the doors and stood in front of it._

_Recovering from his shock, Fudge boomed indignantly: "Potter! What is the meaning of this? You are not authorized to be here!" _

_By then Harry stood before Fudge, the red faced minister was on his feet too, trying to stare down the young adult. "What am I doing?" Harry repeated idly; and then, with incredible speed, he unsheathed his sword and rammed it to the hilt in Fudge's chest. _

_Silence once again fell on the wizengamot members. Thus they heard perfectly Harry's answer: "I'm fighting a war, and you?_

_Because this was it, the greatest menace to their side at the moment wasn't the hundreds death eaters recruited in Britain and abroad every years, it wasn't even Voldemort himself, as deadly as he may be, he still was only one wizard. No, the greatest threat lied in this very chamber: the neutral families and the supporters of the ministry, even some light families had grown tired of the war._

_Supporting Voldemort brought immediate advantages: gold, political favors, safety. Opposing him meant death threats, and attacks. In comparison, supporting the light side gave you a clean conscience… Opposing them meant being on the receiving end of a disappointed stare for a full minute._

_With this sort of climate, Harry estimated that Voldemort would be minister of magic by the end of the year. This was __**not**__ something he would tolerate. It was time to put fear in the heart of those who joined the enemy, time to show them the consequence of their actions. The wizards and witches of England would fight back against Voldemort, even if he had to threaten them to do it._

_Chaos ensued, the aurors took their wands and tried to aim at Harry, but couldn't fire any spell if they didn't want to arm the crowd. Beside the little problem of a 9 feet axe wielding berserk rushing in their direction didn't help. Wizengamot members rose from their seats and tried to gain the exit, only to find out that they were trapped._

_Amidst the rising panic, Harry wrenched Serkhet from its temporary sheath. The power drained from the late bubbling fool seeped in his bones and muscles; he turned his attention to the next target._

_With a splash of blood, the last of his targets was cleanly beheaded. Harry rose from his position and turned his gaze to the witches and wizard huddled at the other side of the chamber. Their wands shakily held in his direction. They didn't fire any spell though; with each execution he had moved faster, stroke harder, he had dodged or batted away with his sword every spell sent his way._

_Hagrid was still at the entrance of the chamber, a dozen unconscious aurors and a few dead targets at his feet. _

"_Members of the Wizengamot!" he said in a clear voice, "The ones who died today were __**all**__ death eater or very strong supporter and activist for their cause." Anger seeped in his voice, "You all knew that. Yet you did nothing. You all knew they killed and raped under their white masks when the night came. Yet you did nothing." The silence was deafening; some would have protested… if he hadn't slaughtered 32 people right before their eyes a few minutes ago._

"_Death eaters… are __**not**__ people with a different view on how society should be run." The anger that now vibrated in his every word turned into white hot hatred, and the survivors of the massacre shivered as if faced with an enraged horntail. "They are traitors to our society, they are terrorists under the guidance of a madman, they are rabid __**dogs!**__ And should be put down like the animals they are!"_

_He lifted his rune sword, which was still dripping with blood, and pointed it in their direction. _

"_It was your job, no, your __**duty**__! to eliminate this threat. Yet you did nothing." He pointed toward the corpses of his victims, "This is what awaits those who fight for __**him. **__I hope for all our sakes that you choose well when the time comes." With those last words, Harry strode out of the chamber._

Conscious came back slowly. A dream. And despite the death and blood, it was a good dream. Dream of a time when Hagrid had been alive and had fought by his side; of a time when demons hadn't made their appearance yet.

Harry stretched his senses. He was in a bed. Memories of his time with the night elves rushed back in his mind and he relaxed slightly. He could sense someone sit beside him. He opened his eyes, _time to get answers._

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**Done! **

**I tried to make this chapter longer than usual to make up for the lost time. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**You know the drill: Review and see you next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**So sorry for the long wait,**

**I don't really have an excuse so I'll let you enjoy the new chapter. Peace and review ;p**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

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Chapter 6 : Astranaar

He opened his eyes and was met with a sight both entrancing and unwelcomed: the white haired female sit at his side wore an armor which revealed a surprising amount of smooth, ivory skin, and seemed to enhance her natural forms instead of hiding them. On the other hand, its color pattern was repeated on the other pieces of armor and clothes she wore. The ensemble screamed "uniform".

His experiences with institutions in power never ended well. Take the Wizengamot… He sincerely hoped that the military heads of the Night elves weren't as paranoid and torture happy as some of the wizard ones he knew back home.

A quick scan of the surface thoughts and feelings of his guest reassured him: he could only sense curiosity and interest there. He tried to sit up and winced as pain shot from his chest. _I'm never travelling by hippogriff ever again._

This seemed to shake the sentinel from whatever thoughts she had as she immediately moved to help him.

"Easy there, don't hurt yourself." She put pillows behind his back so he could lean on the headboard. Once settled, he brought his eyes back to hers.

"Thank you. I'm Harrison Potter, and you are?" Yes, he was curious about her, but the main reason why he engaged the conversation was to send a positive message: _See, I talk without prodding; there is absolutely no need for any kind of torture device and/or small damp cell. _

"My name is Ilyena Nightblade, captain of the sentinels here in Astranaar. I will be the one to introduce you to our city after you are recovered."

"So… what now?"

"Well, first of, I would like to thank you for what you did in felwood, the shadow council has been a thorn in our side since the end of the third war. And I would like to know more about you; we never encountered anything like you in our land." Her tone, which had been serious when she talked about the demon worshippers, lightened significantly as she focused on him; her face betraying an almost childlike curiosity, her glowing eyes on his.

"But not right now", she said before he could say anything, "the druid said you needed to rest so that'll wait tomorrow". She seemed a bit frustrated with the delay if the slight pout was anything to go by…

_Well… _He thought, amused by her antics, _it could have been worse._ Glad that the elves didn't seem to be bad/sadistic hosts he relaxed in his pillows.

Ilyena however, didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave him to his druid-forced rest. He opened his eyes once again and lifted an inquisitive brow at her. He had to repress a smile as she squirmed, apparently ill at ease under his gaze. He decided to stop tormenting her.

"What?"

She blushed, her light purple-blue cheeks darkening at being caught staring. _They do have interesting colors around here, _he mused.

"What's with the scorpion fetish?" She blurted in response, waving her hand toward his amulet and a corner of the room where, he was relieved to see, his sword was. "Scorpions are icky". She added in a matter of fact tone.

This time he did smile, his eyes sparkling with mirth before he responded in a similar fashion.

"Scorpions are _not_ icky." He shook his head, bemused by the casual way she addressed him, no one had spoke to him like that since… "Plus, they are the symbol of my… Goddess you could say."

She leaned forward, clearly interested. "Do your people worship her?" His smile dimmed a little at that, but a shadow of it was still present.

"She's an old goddess, and I am the only one I know of that believe in her." He pointed at his sword and amulet, "those are gifts from her", as was his ring, but he wouldn't tell her that, "Serkhet, Hededeth and Tabithet, the three aspects of the scorpion goddess, each one represents a tenet of her cult: death to your enemies, protection of your own, and peace for yourself."_Sword, ring and amulet._

She gazed in wonder at the small obsidian scorpion before shaking herself and chirping, mischief sparkling in her silver eyes: "Well, I still think scorpions are icky!" She then left the room, a slight skip to her steps.

He chuckled at that; discussing with Ilyena had been… refreshing. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him without fear and/or animosity. As long as she didn't try anything against him he would enjoy her company he decided, before closing his eyes one more time.

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Three days later Harry was good to go. It had been an interesting three days; Ilyena had been at his side almost every waking hour; to guard him as much as to question him he had speculated. His "interrogatin" had been far from the pain he had anticipated though, due in part to the fact that the sentinel captain did answer his questions to.

In three days he managed to extract the story of Night elves from her: more than 15000 years of history, the reign of Azshara, the betrayal of Aszhara and the other highborns leading to the war of the ancient and the sundering. On top of this she told him of Azeroth and of the recent history and political situation.

Harry was still processing all of this. In return, he had told her what he knew about the history of the magical world. His description of a generic wizard seemed to satisfy her. Once the History lessons were over, Ilyena started to delve into more personal matters. He had a harder time with this line of questions; there were several things about himself that he didn't want to explain, and several others that he couldn't.

One of those was _what_ he actually was. The first time he saw his reflection he had had quite a shock: sharper features, make that _much _sharper features, pointed ears, even his teeth were different even if barely. The overall result was feral but sleek, like a cross between a panther and a bird of prey.

The most disturbing though, was that this appearance didn't feel or look alien to him. If anything, he would say that his appearance reflected what he really was now.

During his years of battle there had been no place for regret or guilt. Some soldiers let go completely of their emotions to distance themselves from what happened. Harry did the opposite: he immersed himself in his instincts, the instinct to kill, to survive, and to protect his species. Animals didn't feel guilt; they never gave up the fight for survival. Harry used that; his proficiency in the mind art helping, he became a predator on the battlefield. And as the war went on, he just was a predator.

He didn't know why or how the change took place, but he assumed that it happened when he crossed the barrier with this world.

Finding out more about Ilyena on the other hand had been a very enjoyable experience. The night elf was a walking contradiction: she was more than ten times his age but sometimes seemed younger than him; she was cheerful and wise, playful and responsible. She had fought a war, even if what she called the third war was little more than a few months of ambushes with one true battle at the end, but didn't let the horrors she had seen dim her inner light.

She was a proud example of her race and a sentinel captain dedicated to the protection of her homeland. Harry found that he respected her and enjoyed her company.

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"So, now that you are up and about, what are your plans?"

They were in the common room of the _Moon's rest_, and Harry was currently faced with a plateful of _spider kabob…_ Now, he had been on the frontline nearly constantly for over a decade, this kind of experience ensured that one would not be picky about food, and truthfully, it did smell good.

No, what gave him pause was the greenish blue color of the meat, _seriously! Are all of these people color-blind?_

He sighed at Ilyena's question. He had thought about it. He had thought of little more these last three days. At first his main concern had been to gather enough information about this world to make a decision. The white haired beauty had provided him with that.

His situation wasn't ideal but it was much better than it could have been if his first contact hadn't been made with the elves. Turns out that after the local head honcho had been told about the impossibility of an invasion; Harry had been treated like any honored guest, no guard and no surveillance. Ilyena, who seemed to have more free time than her function should entail, had appointed herself his unofficial guide in this new world.

Harry thought once more about his situation and the options that were open to him:

He wasn't going back to his world; he had been summoned via ritual circle, not portal, that was a one way trip, and he had absolutely _zero_ knowledge about dimension travelling. Plus, he really didn't want to come back.

From there he could either stay with the elves or travel to meet another race. The latter didn't really appeal to him; he had no desire to meet any member of the horde if the main race of this group was the demon summoning green skins he met in Shadow hold. Going to the Humans of Stormwind was the only real option he had besides staying in Ashenvale, but he didn't really consider himself a human anymore, and he knew firsthand how his former compatriots dealt with anything new or different; let alone new, different and dangerous.

No, he couldn't expect a better welcome than the one he'd been given here, so he'd stay here.

He took a bite of roasted spider, _taste a little like beef…_ "What does someone like me do to earn money around here?" He was broke and couldn't count on the night elves hospitality for much longer if he interpreted well the look this Wolfrunning lady had cast him…

The sentinel smiled brightly and launched herself in a list of jobs and activities that could help him.

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"So, Wolfrunner can bypass your authority and command your sentinels if it's for 'defense' purposes?"

This was the day after the one he'd decided to stay in Astranaar, Ilyena and him were walking down the main street toward the sentinels barracks, which also served as captain Nightblade's office. They had concluded that with his vast experience, Harry's best bet would be to offer his services as a mercenary.

Ilyena had proposed to hire him immediately: "few if any elves have as much experience as you tell me you have" she told him. "And…" the spark of mischief that he had come to recognize lit up in her eyes then, "it will annoy Raene to no end!"

"Yes, with the war in Outland and the rising tension between the Horde and the Alliance we are spread pretty thin." She scowled then; "of the 6000 sentinels left in Ashenvale under my authority, only one, maybe two hundred are not on patrol or guard duty. Only a few dozen of those are here in Astranaar."

"I see." Harry had been appalled by how far the sentinels had let the situation slip in Ashenvale. The Orcs had been allowed to reinforce their positions after the war and now occupied a sizable expanse of land in the south-east; the violation of the forest was a source of growing tension between the two races, and more and more sentinels were needed to contain the green skins.

Worse, they hadn't taken care of the remnants of the burning legion: entire horde of satyrs and other minor demons roamed the woods freely. This had chilled Harry's blood; minor demons, without their leaders, weren't overly aggressive or problematic. He thought that was why the elves hadn't bothered hunting them down. But such demons spread their corruption and grew in number each day, and they only needed to open one portal, one portal and Ashenvale would drown in its own blood.

They entered Ilyena's office. It was a small, functional room, but like all things night elf, the smooth curves of the wood and the flawlessly carved stone gave off a "natural" vibe that put him at ease.

Ilyena sat at her desk before glancing at him; "Well then", she started, "you told me you had an idea as to how to employ the limited resources at my disposition?"

He smirked then; it wouldn't be easy, it wouldn't be quick, but if he wanted to feel safe in his new home, the demons, all demons, simply _had to go._

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**I hope I have shed some light on a few things about my story; this chapter was a turning point in Harry's journey. **

**I promise, the next update will come soon! **


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